Curse the Dawn

Chapter Four

The family's customized Boeing Business Jet wasn't so much a plane as a flying hotel suite. It had glove leather seats the size of recliners in the dining area that were clustered around a shiny maple table. There was more maple on the walls and a luxurious coffee-and-cream-patterned carpet on the floor, and the bathroom boasted almost as much granite as the one at Dante's.

Mircea was sitting on a cream leather sofa in the lounge area, looking perfectly at home in a silver-gray shirt and tie and a sleek black suit. I felt a little too informal in a pair of jean shorts and a blue and white striped tank top, but I hadn't had a chance to ask where we were going before getting dressed. At least I was clean.

Mircea had been staring out the window instead of at the forty-seven-inch plasma TV on the wall, but he looked up when I returned from my exploration. "There's an actual bed in the next room," I informed him, before realizing how that sounded.

His lips did a slow curve. "We aren't going that far."

"Where are we going, exactly?"

"To Radu's home, near Napa."

I knew Mircea had a brother named Radu. I'd even met him on one very memorable occasion. But this seemed an odd time for a social call.

"It has been my experience that family business never waits for a convenient time," he commented when I said as much. "Although this will be a quick visit. The Consul is expecting to receive her African and European counterparts in two days, and I must be there."

"They're coming here?"

"With their entourages."

"But. . I didn't think consuls traveled much." A consul was the head of a senate and as such was seen as too valuable to risk. Not that the ones I'd met had seemed in need of much protection. They were pretty scary all on their own.

"These are difficult times. The danger in not combining our strength is far greater than any risks required to do so. If we don't align our interests for the war, we may soon find ourselves without any."

Mircea sounded like maybe he'd made that argument more than a few times lately. "Is that a prepared speech?"

He ran a hand over his face, and for the first time, he looked tired. "Yes, but it's not supposed to sound like one."

A steward came in and set a silver tray with some covered chafing dishes on the coffee table. They turned out to be hiding eggs, bacon and thick-sliced French toast. Orange juice in a cut crystal carafe sat on the side, along with a small bowl of fresh peaches. The sun wouldn't rise for another hour or so, but my stomach grumbled anyway. I'd missed dinner by about four hundred years.

I ate some of everything, even the eggs, despite the pearl-gray caviar the steward had insisted on piling on top. Mircea had coffee. But as stimulants don't work too well on vampires, I doubted it was doing much for him.

He resumed staring out the window while I ate, which alone would have told me that something was wrong. He was the reigning champion of idle chitchat. And that was with someone he didn't know.

Everyone on the Senate had a job, what in a president's cabinet would be called a portfolio. Mircea was the Consul's chief negotiator, the go-to guy when people were being stubborn about giving her what she wanted. Normally, he was able to engineer miracles, bringing even the most obstinate types around to her way of thinking. But this time, she might have asked too much.

"Do you really think the other senates are going to get on board?" I asked.

"What do your cards say?" he countered, obviously not wanting to give odds.

The only tarot deck I had on me had been a present from an old friend who'd had them spelled as a joke. I didn't know who had done the charm, but it was a damn good one. Doing a spread with them was a real pain, but they were eerily good at predicting the overall magical climate of a situation.

"It won't be a normal reading," I warned him, fishing them out. "They don't shut up long enough."

I'd barely gotten the words out when two cards popped up all on their own from the deck.

"The Emperor," a light tenor proclaimed, while a deeper voice majestically intoned, "Death!" After that, it was a little hard to tell what they said, as they kept trying to talk over one another. They got progressively louder in the process until I finally managed to shove them back in the pack and snap it shut.

"The Emperor stands for strength, assertiveness, sometimes aggression," I told Mircea, who was looking amused. "If referring to a person, it usually signifies a father or father figure, a leader or employer, or a king or despot. If to a situation, it indicates a time when bold moves are needed for success."

"Should I worry that the Death card came up as well?" he asked lightly.

"Not really. It almost never means actual death. Normally it foretells the end of something—a dream, an ambition, a relationship. ."

"For some reason I do not feel particularly reassured" was the dry response.

"In this case, it modifies the Emperor," I explained. "The two cards are often associated with each other. An emperor only secures power through the death of his predecessor, he stays in power partially by the fear of death he inspires and his power ends with his own death."

Mircea frowned. "We will shortly have three consuls together for the first time in centuries. Do not take this the wrong way, but I sincerely hope that your interpretation is not the correct one."

So did I.

"What do you plan to do with the alliance, if you get it?" I asked.

"Defeat this god of yours. We cannot reach him—he isn't in this world; a situation we hope continues—but his followers are. To eradicate the threat, we must remove them. All of them. But such an operation will require a combined effort."

A combined effort. Why did I see a problem there? "If the other senates agree, who will lead them?" I asked slowly. "The Consul?"

Mircea sighed and rubbed his eyes again. "That is one of many sticking points. None of the consuls are accustomed to taking anyone else's direction, nor have they been for hundreds of years."

"So it's your job to convince the world's five most powerful vampires to take orders from her?"

"Essentially."

"And I thought my job sucked."

He smiled slightly. "In fact, I do not expect to persuade them all. The Consul has a reasonably good relationship with the European and African consuls, which is how we were able to convince them to visit. And I have some influence at the Chinese court. But we have little leverage with the Indian durbar and none at all in Latin America. If we bring even one of those around, it will surprise me."

"But still, even three or four senates united has to be some kind of record, right?"

"If we can pull it off, yes. But half the senators hate the other half, in many cases because of slights hundreds of years old. Not to mention jealousies, rivalries and too-sensitive egos. Without any real proof of our allegations to offer them, I am not sanguine about our chances."

"We're at war. That seems pretty tangible to me!"

"But against whom? Apollo is not here. All they see are the same old enemies—the Black Circle and a few rogue vampires—with whom our senate has successfully dealt on previous occasions. As a result, they are extremely suspicious of the necessity for an alliance. I believe they suspect us of inventing the divine connection in an attempt to bring them under the Consul's subjugation."

I blinked, absorbing all that. I hadn't seen much of Mircea in the last few days, but I'd assumed that I was just really good at avoiding him. Or, more likely, that he'd noticed the distinct lack of Cassie in his vicinity right away and hadn't cared. But that had made me feel pathetically like a kicked puppy, so I'd focused on the fact that he had a perfectly good reason to be absent.

Mircea and I had both been affected by the love spell gone haywire, but he'd been hit by it far harder and, because of some time complications, had had to deal with it far longer than I had. I'd assumed he was taking some time to recover and had been glad of it, considering how he'd looked when I last saw him. But it didn't sound like he'd been getting any rest at all. And now this family thing had cropped up, whatever it was.

"You should try to take it easy for a while," I said, frowning. "You aren't exactly at your best right now."

One of those expressive eyebrows went up. "I beg your pardon?"

I sighed. That hadn't come out right. "I mean, everybody thinks master vampires are pretty much invincible. Only that's not true, is it? You can get tired and. . and things." I'd seen him hurt and vulnerable recently, and the image had stuck with me. It was yet another reason for keeping my distance.

I'd learned the lesson years ago—never let people get too close. Care, but not too much, because sooner or later, I was going to lose them. My mother's attempt at a new life had ended in a car bomb arranged by a vampire who'd wanted a Seer at his court. She was too smart to take the job, but he thought her daughter would be perfect—if only I didn't have pesky parents around to tell me what a jerk he was.

Tony, the vamp in question, had also tortured my childhood governess to death in a fit of pique, after I'd grown up enough to figure things out and flee from him. Others I'd left behind, either at Tony's or while moving about from place to place, trying to stay one step ahead of the servants he had searching for me. But however it happened, sooner or later, I'd look around and the people who meant something were gone. I'd learned the hard way that keeping my distance made it easier for everyone in the end.

Keep it superficial, stay far enough away, and no one even noticed when you left.

"Is something wrong, dulceaƫă?"

"No." I swallowed. "Nothing. I just wish. ."

"Yes?"

"I wish you could take some time off," I told him.

Mircea's face still looked grave, but his eyes were smiling. "I'm afraid a vacation is out of the question at the moment."

"Well, maybe you could think of something else that relaxes you."

Amber sparked somewhere deep in his eyes. "A few things do come to mind."

I gave him a look. "I mean, maybe you could work on something different for a while? They say a change is as good as a rest."

The growing amber flecks seemed to hold the light and warm it. "I am always happy to experiment." He tucked a stray curl behind my ear. "Did you have anything particular in mind?"

I licked suddenly dry lips, trying not to think about what five hundred years of experience could dream up. "N-not really."

"Then I suppose we'll have to wing it." He pressed me back against the sinfully soft couch cushions and kissed me. When his tongue touched mine, my brain suddenly started suggesting all sorts of interesting possibilities.

And then the captain came on the intercom to announce our successful landing. I looked around in surprise. I hadn't even noticed the descent.

"We could stay here for a while," someone who sounded a lot like me said breathlessly.

Mircea kissed me again, quickly this time, before getting up. "Tempting. But I have to go."

"You mean, we have to go."

"I brought you with me to keep you safe—not to put you in more danger." He started to walk away, but I grabbed his sleeve, managing to put a few wrinkles in its perfect drape.

"Danger? I thought we were visiting your brother."

"I am. You are staying here. Radu is having a few problems and I don't wish you involved in them."

"Maybe I can help," I said, starting to get up. Only to find that I couldn't.

I looked down to see a familiar silver bracelet tight around my wrist. I pulled on it, but it was securely fastened through the arm of the couch, caught on something inside the plush leather—the frame, by the feel of it. Damn it, I'd forgotten to ask for the cuffs back!

"Mircea!"

"This shouldn't take long, and you will be well cared for until I return," he said. And then he just walked out.

I yelled and rattled the cuffs loud enough to wake the dead, but nobody came to help me. I tried shifting and ended up on the tarmac outside the plane—still attached to the couch—in time to watch Mircea drive away. I didn't know where Radu lived, so I couldn't follow him. Not to mention that it was kind of hard to envision being of much use chained to a huge piece of furniture.

I shifted back onto the plane, fuming, and a ghost popped in. That wouldn't normally require comment, as it happens to me all the time—one of the annoyances of being clairvoyant. But this was a little different since this ghost I knew.

Billy Joe was wearing the jaunty Stetson and the ruffled shirt he'd died in a century and a half ago. Normally, the shirt is a brilliant crimson that easily catches the eye. At the moment, it was a pale, faded color, like it had been left out on a wash line too long. It got that way only when his energy levels were close to bottoming out.

"Don't start," I told him before he could open his mouth. "I tried to find you before we left. I knew you needed a draw." Billy and I had a long-standing arrangement in which I fed him extra energy and he fed me information. Neither of us ever got as much as we wanted out of the deal, but it was better than nothing.

"Damn right I need a draw, but that isn't why I'm here." He noticed my wrist and his frown changed to a smirk. "You and the vampire getting kinky?"

"He didn't want me following him."

"So he tied you up?" Billy laughed. "Did you even get any first?"

I glared at him. The skin of my wrist burned where Mircea had touched me, a fluid heat that spread through me and brought an answering flush to my cheeks. "Just because you have a habit of popping in on me at all times of the day and night doesn't give you the right to—"

"Guess not," he said, hiking an insubstantial butt cheek onto the sofa. "So get out of those and let's go. You got an important meeting to make."

"If I knew how to get out of them, I'd have already done it," I said testily. "And what meeting?"

"Oh, I don't know. Which one have you been trying to set up for the past three days?"

It took me a second to get it. Pritkin had been pestering the Circle to meet with me ever since Apollo entered the equation. But I hadn't actually expected him to get anywhere. Once a member of the Circle himself, Pritkin had broken with them over his support of me. I'd assumed they wanted his head on the platter right beside mine.

"The Circle wants to meet? Since when?"

Billy rolled his eyes. "Since yesterday. Word came in shortly after you left to chase Agnes. Don't you read your messages?"

"What messages? I didn't get any messages!"

"Pritkin went by your place about a dozen times, but you were never there. So he started leaving notes with that huge guy."

"Marco."

"Yeah. That's the one."

"Marco didn't give them to me." Or even mention them—or Pritkin or the meeting. I was beginning to think that he was right. We had a communication problem.

Billy shrugged. "Mircea must have ordered him not to."

I opened my mouth to say that Mircea wouldn't do that but shut it again before the words got out. Who was I kidding? Mircea totally would.

"The Senate likes the idea of a Pythia under their control," I said, working it out. "And if the Circle and I make up—"

"You might get a little too cozy," Billy finished.

"So Mircea was delegated to get me out of the way before the meeting." I felt my face flush, remembering that scene in front of the mirror. So I was too precious to lose, huh? Too important to him?

"Uh, Cass?" Billy was looking at me a little funny. "The meeting is at Dante's—Pritkin insisted. Something about neutral ground. Anyway, we got less than an hour before the mages show up."

I started to stand, only to be jerked back down again. "I'm kind of chained to a sofa," I pointed out.

Billy grinned. "Bet Pritkin could get you loose."

I sighed. Yeah, but I'd never live it down. "He's in his room?" I asked resignedly.

"I think you'll fit," Billy said gleefully. "If we push."

I sighed. Never. And shifted.

Like me, Pritkin had recently gotten an upgrade in accommodations. They were roomier than the old version, but to be on the safe side, I landed in the corridor outside. And my large leather accessory landed on top of Marco's friend. He was a vampire and the sofa was built to be lightweight for air travel, so it didn't hurt him. It didn't make him too happy, though.

"Marco said you might show up," he said, lifting it off and dumping it to the side. "He also said you wasn't to be allowed to talk to the mage."

My eyes narrowed. "I'll talk to whomever I damn well please," I told him, trying to drag the sofa around so I could knock on the door.

He put a foot on the nearest couch cushion and took out a cell phone. "She's back," he told it while I pulled and tugged and got nowhere. "Marco says I'm to take you upstairs," I was informed.

"You and what army?" I grunted. "And get your foot off my sofa."

The vamp regarded my leather appendage for a second and then looked toward the elevator. The thought process didn't appear to be swift, but he did eventually arrive at the right conclusion—it wasn't going to fit. "I'll have to break it in two," he said, grabbing the other end. "Sorry, but I'm sure the master will buy you another one."

"It's Mircea's," I said quickly. "It's his sofa. And he's really, really attached to it."

The vamp looked suspicious. "To a sofa?"

"It's a designer original, hand-dyed to coordinate with the rest of the furniture on his BBJ. You mess it up, and they'll never get another one to match. It'll stand out like a sore thumb. It'll be embarrassing."

We stood staring at each other for a long minute, and the vamp blinked first. "I don't want to embarrass the master," he said slowly, reaching for his cell phone. But he'd forgotten to put his foot back on the couch, so I gave a mighty heave and slid over within arm's length of the door.

"Hey!" He was there in a heartbeat, with his hand on my arm. So I kicked the door instead of knocking. "You gotta go back upstairs. Marco said so!"

"Tell Marco to go to hell!"

"Trust me, I'm already there," Marco informed me from the stairwell.

Damn it! I tried to kick the door again, but Marco grabbed the end of the sofa and dragged me back out of reach. "You're coming with us. Deal with it," he told me.

An elderly couple came out of the next room while we were standing there glaring at each other. The man was wearing a blue polo shirt and a pair of plaid shorts that started around his armpits and just brushed his knobby knees. The woman had on a Chippendales souvenir tee, a pair of bright red jogging shorts and matching Keds. They both looked about ninety.

"You're gonna have to move your couch," the old man said. "The missus and I gotta get to the elevator."

"If you don't get to the buffet early, the eggs get all dried up," the woman agreed. "They should cook more eggs."

"You heard the man," I told Marco. "Move the sofa."

Marco rolled his eyes. "It's your fucking sofa. Why don't you move it?"

"That's no way to talk to a lady," the old man told him. "And how's a little thing like her going to move a big sofa like that anyway?"

"You look like strong boys," the woman chimed in. "Why don't you move it for me?" She batted her eyes at Marco's buddy, who started looking slightly panicked.

"Take the stairs," Marco told her. "It's better for you."

She frowned. "I had hip replacement surgery. I can't do stairs."

"Don't tell my girlfriend what to do!" the old man said, looking pissed. "This is a public hallway. You can't block the way like this! I'm going to report you to the management if you don't move this thing right now!"

The old woman beamed at him. "Isn't he something?" she asked me.

"Chivalry isn't dead," I agreed.

"You want this sofa moved?" Marco asked. "You got it."

He picked me up, dumped me on the couch, and yanked up one end. His buddy got the other, and the two vamps started carrying it down the hall. Either of them could have managed it alone, probably with one hand, but we had an audience.

The man and woman followed us to the elevators and pressed the button, and then we all waited until an empty car arrived. The door pinged and the two lovebirds got on. The woman held the door, but I shook my head at her. "It won't fit."

Marco glanced from the couch to the elevator and reached the same conclusion. Scowling, he put down his end of the sofa, shifted me to one side, and stomped a size thirteen foot down through the middle. There was a loud crack and the sofa broke clean in two.

"Oh, my," the woman said, her foot firmly planted in the elevator door. It looked like the eggs could wait.

"Oh, jeez." Marco's buddy was looking from him to the sofa, back and forth, like he couldn't quite believe his eyes. "Oh, man, you shouldn't have done that. That was a special couch. That was Lord Mircea's favorite couch!"

"Lord Mircea doesn't have a favorite couch!" Marco told him, trying to shove me onto the elevator. But the piece I was attached to was still too big, especially with two people already on board.

Marco grabbed the sofa arm that my cuffs were stuck through as if he meant to wrench it off, but his buddy stopped him. "I can't let you do that," he said seriously.

Marco stared at him for a moment. "Can't let me do what?" he finally asked.

"I can't let you do any more damage to Lord Mircea's property. This is a special couch. See that leather? It was custom dyed. You can't just go out and buy another one, not and have it match." He surveyed the pieces with a worried frown. "The leather split along the seam. Maybe it can be repaired. Maybe we can—"

I never heard his suggestion, because Marco planted a fist to his jaw with enough force to send him sailing back against the wall. It shuddered when he hit, and a wall sconce tumbled to the carpet, shattering into pieces. The vampire didn't look so good himself, sliding slowly down onto his haunches.

Marco glowered at him. "Don't ever challenge my authority again. I'm in charge of this detail. You do what I tell you." He turned back to the sofa and got a grip.

"Don't do it," his friend warned, slowly getting back to his feet.

"What did you say?" Marco asked softly, turning toward him again.

"I said. Put. It. Down."

"Okay." Marco let go of the sofa and carefully pushed the old woman's foot out of the door. "Show's over. Nothing to see here," he told her, and hit the button for the lobby. As soon as the elevator car was away, he launched himself at the other vamp.

I'd known what was coming and was ready. Half a sofa weighed a lot less than the whole thing and was more maneuverable, too. I got to my feet as they staggered into a stairwell, cursing and clawing, and started dragging myself back down the hall.

Normally, I'd have shifted, but I'd already had a hard night—a trip of four centuries isn't fun—and then had had to shift back from the airplane. Plus the small detour to the tarmac. I was pooped. And I didn't think meeting the head of the Circle completely out of juice was a good idea.

I knocked sharply on Pritkin's door. This time it opened to reveal a half-shaved war mage with a razor in his hand. He was wearing nicely pressed dress slacks and a sleeveless undershirt that fit him like a second skin. But for once it wasn't the well-defined arms and muscular shoulders that caught my attention. It was the hair.

His short blond mane fell in waves over his forehead and just brushed his collar. It looked soft. It looked under control. It looked normal.

"Your hair." I gaped at it.

He ran a hand through it. "I haven't had a chance to deal with it yet."

"Do you have to?"

Green eyes narrowed. "Where have you been?" he demanded. "And why aren't you dressed?"

I didn't reply because suddenly Marco was there with a scowl on his face and a rip in his suit. "All right," he said, panting slightly. "Let's go."

"How do you think Mircea would like you manhandling me like this?" I asked, looking down at the hand gripping my bicep.

"The master wants you to wait for him upstairs."

"You called him?"

"No. He left a message in case you showed up. I guess he knows you."

I ignored that. "Since when do you deliver messages?" I looked at Pritkin. "He didn't give me any of yours. I wouldn't have even known about the meeting if it weren't for Billy."

"Why didn't you give her my messages?" Pritkin demanded.

"Billy and I have this theory," I told him, "that maybe the Senate isn't too happy about—" I stopped because Marco clapped a hand over my mouth. Pritkin knocked it away, and the two sized each other up.

"I haven't had dinner yet," Marco told him. "Bring it." Pritkin glanced at me and finally noticed that I was attached to something. "Why are you handcuffed to a chair?"

"It's part of a couch," I told him.

The elevator dinged and the old man and woman got out. They skirted the damaged furniture in front of the elevators and walked down the hall toward us, her limping slightly because of her hip. They finally reached us and the old man scowled. "I thought I told you to move that thing," he said querulously. "I forgot my medication. I have to take it with breakfast or I'm messed up the whole day. And your sofa is blocking my door."

Marco closed his eyes for a minute and then picked up the sofa. He broke off the arm that I was chained to and handed it to me. Then he proceeded to rip the rest into tiny pieces while the old couple watched him with big eyes.

He'd almost finished when his buddy, looking pretty beat up, came running out of the stairwell leading a detail of security. Since the hotel is owned by one vamp and managed by another, it isn't too surprising that most of the security force is also among the life challenged.

"I'm her bodyguard!" Marco yelled at them as six vampires piled onto him. "You don't understand—she's in danger!"

"Uh-huh," the leader of the patrol said, eyeing the old couple. "It looks like we arrived just in the nick of time."

"Tell him!" Marco ordered me.

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. Marco was a new arrival on the scene in Vegas, having been brought in from Mircea's court in Washington State. As a result, most of the casino employees didn't know him yet. With luck, the guards wouldn't get confirmation on his identity until after my meeting with the Circle was over. I stood there silently as they dragged him away while he stared at me with little narrowed eyes.

"Sorry about that," the security chief was telling the old couple.

"You could comp us a buffet," the old woman said hopefully.

"Damn straight," the old man agreed. "There's something wrong when a fella can't even get to his meds."

"What the hell is going on?" Pritkin demanded.

I held out the arm with the cuff. "Get this thing off and I'll fill you in."